


Saved by the Skin

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Series: Goretober Prompts [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter
Summary: Sheamus sat in the waiting room and hated himself. Goretober Prompt: Medical. Post No Mercy 2017





	Saved by the Skin

Sheamus’s body rebelled against him and kept falling asleep in the waiting room, despite the godawful uncomfortable chairs. He would shift in his seat, grumble, fall asleep, wake up, swear, and hate himself. He hated himself for falling asleep and he hated himself more for the other thing.

They had spent so long fighting each other, building up layers of patterns and behaviors. And then afterward they kept going through those motions without thinking. They were friends but they were also bickering and snapping and tense all the time. And it only felt like a week ago…

Sheamus did the math in his head and realized it was more like a month.

But it only felt like a week ago that they got all that bullshit figured out. 

Sheamus’s stomach was roiling and churning and burning with self loathing. The light above him whined and buzzed.

Because, he hadn’t gotten anything figured out. Cesaro had. Cesaro, bold and beautiful and brilliant Cesaro, had finally figured out what all the tension and anger was coming from and pushed him down on the bed. He’d kissed and stroked and ground himself down on top of Sheamus’s body. Sheamus didn’t touch him back. Sheamus couldn’t touch him back.

The door swung open and a man in a white coat walked in. Sheamus straightened up sharply, snorting back his sleepiness and widening his eyes. The man looked tired and a little snotty, like he didn’t appreciate being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for emergency dental surgery. Sheamus just wished he would complain.

The man tried to talk to him and he couldn’t focus on what he was saying, too tired and too distracted to parse words. He watched the man’s mouth moving and thought about Cesaro’s tongue flicking out to catch a drop of sweat off Sheamus’s collar bone, about the blood gushing down over his chin and dripping onto the locker room floor.

There was all that tedious hospital routine. There was finding the car in the labyrinthian parking garage and getting Cesaro into it, bringing him there in a wheelchair, even though he had walked in under his own power. There was the swing through the pharmacy drive-thru, the doling out of pain medicine. Sheamus didn’t look when Cesaro opened his mouth to pop back the pills.

Sheamus didn’t look when they were a pile of tangled limbs either. Didn’t look when they were writhing on hotel beds and Cesaro was whispering filth into his ear.

There was late check in and collecting the luggage and watching Cesaro sway on his feet and put a hand on the desk to prop himself up. Cesaro was tired, groggy from anesthesia and painkillers. His head lolled on his neck. The night clerk pointed them to elevator.

For a month that felt like a week he didn’t look and he didn’t touch. He just laid there and let Cesaro love all over him. Let his own silence and stillness shelter him from implications, from meaning and choice. Waited long enough for Cesaro’s ministrations to provide enough biological excuse for blind and wild movement. He waited for Cesaro to lick down the plane of Sheamus’s stomach and put his head between Sheamus’s legs and suck him down hard and fast.

That wasn’t going to happen tonight. That wasn’t going to happen for a long, long time. And Sheamus couldn’t stop feeling like shit that his mind kept returning to that thought, couldn’t drag himself past it.

The doors slid open and closed. They stepped inside, Cesaro bumping against the bag Sheamus held between them. The elevator moving made them both waver.

It wasn’t about getting off. Sheamus didn’t care about getting off. It was about something else. Something that dragged and squirmed in the bottom of Sheamus’s stomach. Something hot and holy. Something over that Sheamus hadn’t even known had begun.

They got into the hotel room and Sheamus swung the suitcases up onto a counter by the door, shoving over the coffeepot and knocking tea bags onto the floor. Cesaro lumbered over and dropped onto the bed with a huff. He began the laborious task of pulling his shirt up over his head. Sheamus moved forward to help him and stopped a moment before touching him.

He could put his hands on Cesaro at work, could pat and encourage and celebrate and tag. He could put his hands on Cesaro when he was coming, when he was gripping his fingers into muscles and groaning past the imperfect barrier of his own teeth.

Sheamus strode forward and pulled the neck of Cesaro’s shirt away from his face as he pulled it off. Cesaro threw the shirt to the floor and Sheamus slid his hands up Cesaro’s arms, over the pulse in his throat to the back of his skull. He held Cesaro’s head so carefully, cradling his face in huge, warm hands. “I’ll kill him,” Sheamus said flatly. 

Cesaro couldn’t smile exactly, but he could contract his cheek muscles up and his eyes still danced with amusement. He shook his head, shifting Sheamus’s hands back and forth. “‘on’t,” he managed, grimacing at the sting of the forced T sound. He jerked his head toward the bed he was sitting on, as though suggesting something Cesaro could do instead.

There were two beds. There were always two beds. There was always the pretense of sleeping alone, of physical exhaustion and physical need ruling their actions.

Sheamus pulled off his clothes and got into bed. He let Cesaro arrange himself carefully on the pillows and then wrapped an arm tight around Cesaro’s stomach and buried his face in the back of Cesaro’s neck.


End file.
